The Red Kimono

by Jan Morrill

  She propped up on her elbows. “Lose face, lose face, lose face. I’m sick of hearing it. What about the dishonor in judging someone? Treating them differently because of what their father does for a living? That’s no better than judging us because we look like the enemy. I don’t care what Mama says, and I don’t care if she loses face. I’m not giving Sam up.”

  Nobu pressed his hands against his eyes before running his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. Stay friends with Sam. We’re leaving for Arkansas in five days anyway.”

  It wasn’t fair. Sachi dropped her head into Nobu’s pillow and tried to muffle a cry that shook through her body.

  After several minutes, she felt the warmth of her brother’s hand on her back. “I think Mama has gone to bed. We should, too. We’ve got a long day of packing tomorrow.” He pulled Sachi up. “Come on, off to bed.”

  Dragging her feet, she pushed through the curtain into the room where Mama lay silent. Early evening twilight cast a dim light below the front door, and muffled voices from surrounding stalls drifted into their room. She wasn’t ready for sleep, and she sure wasn’t ready to crawl into bed with Mama. But there was nowhere else to go.

  She gently lifted her pillow, hoping not to disturb Mama. She knew her mother wasn’t asleep—her breathing did not hold the rhythm she’d grown accustomed to since sharing a bed. What did Mama think about as she lay there? Was she still angry with Sachi? Did she still wonder what Papa would think? No matter. The last thing she wanted was to get Mama started again.

  As she slowly pulled her pajamas from under the pillow, her heart pounded so hard she wondered if Mama might hear it. She undressed in the darkening room and laid her clothes on the table next to the bed. In the lonely stillness, she buttoned her pajama shirt. Her fingers trembled as she anticipated the return of Mama’s anger.

  But there was only quiet. Maybe silence was worse than rage.

  She lay down and waited for the sound of Mama’s slumber. Long, slow breaths. A gentle snore. Instead, she felt Mama’s warm body, tense and unmoving. Inches apart, yet a world away.

  Sachi clung to the edge of the bed, sad at the thought that Mama disliked her as much as she disliked Mama.

  Chapter 35

  Nobu

  September 25, 1942

  Nobu carried the last of the bags out of the stall. Mama and Sachi had already left, taking what they could carry to the area where they had been told to wait. In less than an hour, all of the families scheduled to be transferred to Arkansas would be loaded onto buses that would take them to the train station.

  He walked back into the apartment and looked around once again to make sure they had not forgotten anything. Mama had tried to make the small space feel like home, but nothing she placed in the room, not the pictures on the wall, the dish towels by the large bowl that served as a sink, or the books that had lined their shelves, could take away the lingering stench of manure in the dirt floors. No, it was never like home, just a horse stall in disguise.

  He sat for the last time on his hay mattress and took the journal from his shirt pocket.

  September 25, 1942

  Today we are leaving for Arkansas. I know nothing of Arkansas, except that it is far away from this place—so far that we will be on a train for days. I’ve never been on a train before. Maybe I’d be excited if it weren’t for the reason we’re going. Once again, we have no choice in the matter. Once again, Mama cries at night and Sachi is sad to leave her friends.

  Though I hate to admit, maybe it’s best that Sachi must leave her friend, Sam. Don’t get me wrong. I do not agree with Mama that Sam should be judged by his father’s profession. I know what it’s like to be considered less than equal for something out of my control. Am I less American than the uniformed guard who stands at the gate, only because Japan attacked Pearl Harbor? Is Sam less than Sachi, because his father is a butcher and our father was a banker? We do not have control over such things, yet we are judged because of them.

  But Mama has nobody to support her. Sachi is still angry with me for acting like Papa, but I am the man of the house now and must protect the honor of this family, whether I like it or not. Shikata ga nai.

  Still, I’m sorry Sachi must leave Sam. I think she has a crush on him. And what about me? I’m damn mad about not getting to know Yuki, too. It would be even harder if we had had the chance to get to know each other like Sachi and Sam did.

  At least Kazu is going to Arkansas, too. He and his mother will be on the same train. Imagine. They still don’t know when they will be reunited with his father again. I wonder. Now that Kazu is being sent to Arkansas, will his father’s letters still find him?

  What kind of place is this Arkansas? Where will we live? Another horse stall? Maybe something worse? And how long will we be there before they decide to move us again?

  I can only hope that Sachi will soon forget about Sam, and that I’ll forget Yuki. Then maybe things will return to normal between Sachi and me.

  Nobu slapped the journal shut and left his apartment at Santa Anita for the last time. He picked up the bags and walked down the center of Row 3, past other stalls with suitcases and boxes stacked in front.

  When he turned the corner, his stomach sank at the familiar sight of dozens and dozens of men, women, and children sitting and standing around boxes, bags, and luggage.

  Buses rumbled outside the gate while armed guards with clipboards shuffled from family to family, making checkmarks as they passed.

  He searched the crowd. Where were they? They were supposed to wait by the administration building. He looked at the face of every little girl close to Sachi’s age, but no Sachi and no Mama.

  At last, Mama called from somewhere behind him. “Nobu!”

  He turned to find her voice.

  She ran toward him, alone, breathing hard, her skin flushed.

  “Where’s Sachi?” he asked.

  Mama’s brows pressed together over eyes filled with worry. “She was sitting right next to me, then she was gone.” She grabbed Nobu’s shirt. “We must find her! They just called our number to load the bus.”

  Chapter 36

  Terrence

  September 25, 1942

  You ain’t never gonna be nothing, ’cause you just a stupid nigger.

  Get a degree. Make something of yourself. Make a difference in this world.

  Nothing but a nigger.

  Make a difference in this world.

  No way could Terrence sleep with the words of Peachie and Mr. Blake wrestling round and round in his head. He flipped to his side and punched his lumpy pillow. Flopped again and stared at dust that rolled across the floor, like a ghostly mouse running to hide. He pulled the pillow over his ears to shut out noise coming from other cells. But it didn’t do anything to stop the clatter in his head.

  Okay, he’d admit Momma and Daddy always told him the same thing Mr. Blake had said that day in the visitors’ room.

  “Son, only way you gonna make something of yourself is to get you an education.”

  He’d gotten tired of hearing it, even though Momma made sure he couldn’t ignore her.

  But he could ignore Mr. Blake. That was for damn sure.

  Man, he had to get his mind off all that education bullshit back-and-forth or he’d go crazy.

  Think of something. Anything. Patty and Missy. Yeah. Momma said she’d bring them on Sunday. Never thought he’d say it, but he sure missed his sisters. How many times had he slammed his bedroom door to keep them from coming in to pester him? Right now, he’d give just about anything to have Patty barge in, even if it was to ask him to fix that old, flat tire on her bike. She was always bugging him about that. He thought about all the times Missy crawled up into his lap, dragging along her favorite picture book. He smiled thinking about that silly book and how he’d grown tired of reading it over and over. Heck, if he had the chance, he’d even read that one to her again.

  Some nights, when the guards called “lights out,” he’d close
his eyes, and he could almost feel her sitting there with him, pointing at the pictures while he read.

  He took a lot for granted back then. Jesus. By the time he got out of this place, Missy would be in first grade and wouldn’t need anyone to read to her. And Patty? She’d be a teenager. Boys would probably be chasing her all over the place, too.

  He sat up and propped the lumpy pillow on his knee before resting his head on it. How could he be so tired, but not be able to sleep? Why couldn’t he shut up those voices in his head that kept saying it over and over.

  You ain’t never gonna be nothing but a nigger.

  He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and looked around the cell, searching for a way to escape the ranting going on inside.

  There were those books again. Nagging him without saying a word. Only this time they looked different. What were those dark stripes against them? He turned to look at the cell door bars and the light that shined from down the hall. Shadows.

  Jail bar shadows.

  Ain’t never gonna be nothing.

  And Mr. Blake’s books. On the other side of those shadows.

  Make something of yourself.

  He closed his eyes, and the voices in his head quieted. Something happened inside him. The battle was over. He wasn’t sure if he’d given in or given up. Didn’t matter.

  He’d finally figured it out. Mr. Blake had planted a seed—get educated. Make something of yourself. And it had been growing inside like a weed. For sure, Terrence had been spending plenty of energy trying to kill it.

  He grinned and shook his head. Then there was what Peachie said, the ugly shit he threw at Terrence to put him down. All the while, that shit was just the fertilizer Blake’s seedling needed to make it grow even faster, until tonight, it was too big to ignore anymore.

  Those books waiting behind those striped shadows? They were the way out.

  Chapter 37

  Sachi

  September 25, 1942

  Sachi had to find Sam before Mama and Nobu found her. “Sam!” She called over and over as she searched the crowd of people that milled around like wind-up dolls. “Sam, where are you?”

  She caught a glimpse of Mama talking to Nobu and hid behind a man reading a newspaper. Her mouth went dry and a chill ran down the back of her neck. Her heart pounded like it wanted to escape from her body and stay at Santa Anita. Where was he? He knew they were leaving today.

  “There you are.”

  Sam. Her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. She was surprised by the lump in her throat when she turned to see him smiling at her. She would miss the way he laughed at her silly jokes.

  “Sam,” she said, biting her lip. “I was afraid I wouldn’t find you before we have to leave.”

  “But I found you.” His hand reached for hers. “Come with me.”

  She didn’t think her heart could beat harder than when she thought Mama and Nobu would catch her and take her away, but now it did. Sam had never tried to hold her hand before.

  “Let’s go to our hiding place,” he said.

  “But …” She didn’t want to say it. “I heard them call our number. It’s time to get on the bus.”

  “Just for one minute.”

  They might never see each other again. The bus—the world that conspired to keep them apart—could wait one minute.

  He took her to the shade behind the mess hall. The shade where every day for four months they’d hidden from the world and talked about everything. The place where she’d shared secrets with Sam, every secret except what Mama thought about his father being a butcher. It was here that she learned his favorite food—cheeseburgers. Where she told him about the worst day of her life—when she found out Papa was dead. Where she watched him as he talked, and wondered what he would look like when he grew up. Where she blushed when he called her a “silly girl” for being afraid of a beetle that had scurried over her foot. So many memories she would never forget.

  “This place won’t be the same without you, Sachi.”

  She stared at the ground so he wouldn’t see her cry. “I wish you were going to Arkansas,” she whispered.

  “I’ll write to you. I promise.”

  “And I’ll write back. Every day.”

  He leaned over and searched her face. “Are you crying?”

  She spun away and wiped her eyes. “No.”

  “Don’t try to deny it, silly girl. I see where your tears fell in the dirt.”

  With a pouty frown, she hid the smile his “silly girl” prompted and gave him a gentle shove. “So what. I’m sad, okay? Aren’t you sad?”

  Putting his hands in his pockets, he smiled. “Yeah. But boys don’t cry.” He turned to the mess hall and began to flick off paint from the peeling wall. “Think they’ll ever paint these buildings?”

  Sachi moved to his side. “Sam?”

  He looked at her as a tear fell to his cheek. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered, before pulling her toward him for a hug.

  An awkward second passed before she also wrapped her arms around him. She’d never been hugged by a boy before. Well, at least not a boy that wasn’t her brother. And this was different. Sam’s arms held her on the outside, but on the inside, something warm and wonderful wrapped around her heart.

  “Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” she asked.

  “I hope—”

  “Sachi! We’ve been looking all over for you!” Nobu’s words brought the real world crashing back.

  She pushed Sam away.

  Nobu grabbed her arm. “Didn’t you hear them call us? Come on! It’s time to get on the bus.”

  She resisted Nobu’s tug, but knew it was useless. No amount of time would have been enough to say goodbye. As he pulled her away, she turned to wave.

  Sam wiped his face with his sleeve.

  When they reached the bus, Mama pushed her up the steps. “Hurry and find a seat. All of these people have been waiting for you.”

  She sat in a window seat and pressed her face against the glass, searching for Sam. There he was, standing under her window.

  “Goodbye,” she cried.

  The engine revved and the bus jerked forward. She turned to watch Sam and listened for his voice through the rumble of the engine, until she could no longer hear him.

  In the cloud of dust the bus left behind, she watched him wave and read his lips.

  “Sayonara, Sachi.”

  Chapter 38

  Nobu

  September 27, 1942

  The train clacked and swayed through yellow summer heat that beat down from a cloudless blue sky. With windows to the outside world barely cracked open, the air was thick with the smell of too many people who hadn’t bathed in two days. Nobu rubbed his forehead. The attempt by some to use perfumes and colognes to mask their odors had given him a headache.

  But the sultry, heavy air in the train car was a sedative; the rhythm of the train a lullaby. Many slept. Those still awake fanned themselves with hats, a newspaper, whatever they could get their hands on to move the sticky air.

  Nobu listened to Sachi sleep, her gentle purr each time she breathed in and out. He brushed a wisp of damp hair off her forehead and watched tiny beads of sweat trickle off her nose. When she slept, her face was serene, like an angel. Such a change from the wicked glare she sometimes gave him, a reminder that she was still angry he told Mama about Sam. It didn’t matter to her that they would have had to leave Santa Anita whether or not Mama found out about Sam. And that wasn’t Nobu’s fault.

  He fanned his face with a ball cap. The heat made everybody a little grouchier, and he felt himself growing more hot and irritable with Sachi’s body stretched across his lap. Still, he was grateful for her slumber. She’d cried off and on since leaving Santa Anita two days before, and though he tried to blame it on the miserable conditions on the train, he knew it was because she missed Sam.

  He pulled his journal out of his satchel slowly, afraid of waking her. A tiny moan escaped her, and
he froze. She rubbed her nose and returned to sleep again. He began to write.

  September 27, 1942

  Halfway to Arkansas. They told us it would take four days and we’ve been on this hot train for two. Seems like a week already. I never thought I would come to miss the stall at Santa Anita, but after being crammed in this cramped car for so long, I do.

  There are some kids at the back of our car who have been rowdy and screaming since we left. Their parents don’t do anything to control them—they sleep all the time! But noisy as those brats are, it’s Sachi’s crying that bothers me most.

  She couldn’t know how hard it was for me to pull her away from Sam. Seeing her hands reach for him as I dragged her to the bus, I wanted to let her stay for one last hug. But the stares of those who waited told me to hurry. Their impatient faces scolded, “Can’t you control your little sister?” And Mama waited by the bus steps, trying to hide her embarrassment with a proud mask. She couldn’t hide the loss of face that shone in her eyes and tight lips.

  I was torn by what to do. Sachi was torn from Sam.

  Sometimes I’m hard on her, but if I don’t act hard I will seem weak. It would be easier for me to let her do whatever she wants, but then Mama would have to be the mean one. She has enough to worry about.

  Sachi blames me. She used to look up to me, now the only looks I get from her are angry ones.

  Kazu and his mother are on another car, somewhere near the back of the train. I’ve seen him a couple of times when the train stopped to let us get out and stretch. I wonder if he feels the same sense of obligation to his mother? Is it different for him, knowing one day his father will return, than it is for me, knowing Papa is dead? I haven’t asked Kazu this question. I don’t want to let him know my thoughts.

  I wonder what Arkansas will be like. If the countryside we have passed through is any indication, it will be in the middle of nowhere. No big cities since leaving California. Only a lot of empty space. Tiny little towns. Every time we pass through, the guards make us pull down the window shades. Is it because they do not want us to see out? Or is it because they do not want the residents of these towns to see us?